by Odafe Atogun
‘Don’t you have food to eat at home?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’ Noah asked, surprised.
‘Because I’m an orphan,’ the boy replied.
‘And where do you live?’
‘I live with my uncle, my late mother’s brother. They say I’m bad. They beat me and they don’t give me food most times. So I go to the rubbish dump to get something to eat.’
Noah felt deflated, and for several moments he did not know what to say. ‘Come with me,’ he said finally. ‘I will take you to my house and my mother will get you something to eat.’
*
I was surprised when Noah showed up with him at the shop.
‘Mother, this is my friend, Bobo. He says he is an orphan and he has not had anything to eat for days. I brought him home so that Auntie Oyi can prepare some food for him to eat.’ His voice was sad.
My heart began to race. I said nothing. I rose and led Noah and the boy out of the shop. Then I locked up and we went into the house. In the living room, holding the boy by the shoulders, I bent down to study his face. He looked thin and pale, and it was obvious that he had endured great hardship, worse than the orphans in the village of my birth. I just stared into his face, unable to say a word. I could not believe that a child could be in such a pitiable condition in a village that was so peaceful and prosperous.
Oyi came into the living room. She took in the situation, and a deep sigh escaped her. I did not need to explain anything to her. I rushed to get the boy some banana and groundnuts and water, and I told Noah to keep him company while I went to the kitchen to cook yam for him.
Oyi followed me. ‘I know the boy,’ she said. ‘He is an orphan. His name is Bobo. He has a younger sister called Ada, who is about six. They both live with their uncle.’
‘And how is his sister?’ I asked, looking up from what I was doing, my heart beating unpleasantly. ‘How is she being treated?’
‘The same way they treat the boy.’
‘You mean she is in the same state?’ My voice was faint.
‘She is even worse. She is a girl, younger than the boy; she cannot endure as much as him. I see her every now and then. She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. After both of their parents died, they said she was a witch because she was so beautiful, that she killed her parents and passed some of her evil power to her brother. They had wanted to kill her, but they spared her because they believed she would confess one day. Then she can be sentenced to death. So they’re waiting for the day she confesses.’
‘Can you bring her to me, please?’
‘I could try,’ Oyi said uncertainly. ‘It could cause a lot of problems for us if their family discover that they have been here.’
‘Please don’t think about that,’ I said urgently. ‘See if you can bring her here. Today. If possible, now.’
‘Let me go to their house and see if I can get her here,’ Oyi said.
*
I had finished boiling the yam and Bobo was eating at the table when Oyi walked in with Ada. My heart broke at the first sight of her. She looked so thin, so frail, so beautiful – more beautiful than Oyi had described. I had never seen any child as beautiful as she was. In spite of the fact that she had endured so much suffering, she looked like an angel – a persecuted angel. She had silent tears in her eyes. When she saw her brother, she began to cry loudly. She ran to him at the table, and she flung her arms around his neck.
Bobo had stopped eating. The yam in his hand had dropped on the table when he saw his sister. He struggled to swallow the food in his mouth. ‘She is my sister,’ he said to no one and began to cry loudly too. Noah started to cry too. I could not help myself. I allowed my tears to flow freely. And I just stood rooted to the spot, wishing that the nightmare would dissolve before my eyes.
Oyi tried to console all of us, begging us not to cry. She was very strong, Oyi. I could see in her eyes that she had tears in her soul, but she managed to contain them. She kept moving from one to the other, wiping our faces with her palms.
Finally, I dried my tears. Gently, I pulled Ada and Bobo apart. I wiped their faces with a clean cloth and I got them to sit at the table. I brought more yam and palm oil for them, and I urged them to eat. They ate, looking at each other now and then. And then Bobo smiled weakly at Ada. She smiled back at him.
I turned my face away, too distressed to watch them in their innocence, knowing that their plight was a shame to society, to the human race.
Noah sat next to Ada at the table. He took her hand as she ate. ‘Please, you must never cry again,’ he said. ‘You are my friend and my sister. And Bobo is my friend and my brother.’ He paused, then continued. ‘Don’t worry, I have the secret of happiness. I will share it with you both and we will live happily for ever.’
Ada smiled sweetly at him. She swallowed the food in her mouth. And she said, ‘Thank you.’
‘Eat your food,’ Noah said, still holding her hand.
She nodded, and continued to eat. Now and then she turned to look at Bobo and then at Noah. And then she would smile.
After they had finished eating, Oyi and I retreated quietly from the room, leaving the three of them to get to know each other.
*
‘They have to go back home before the family start looking for them,’ Oyi said a few hours later.
‘I want them to live with me. I don’t want them to go back there,’ I said. ‘I cannot bear to let them go back. What can I do?’ My voice was hopeless.
Oyi shook her head slowly. ‘It would be impossible for them to live here with you. You heard what the High Priest said when he came. Moreover, their uncle will not allow them to live with you.’
‘But they’re being treated so badly! What’s the point in having them under his roof when they’re not being properly cared for?’
‘It’s tradition. Tradition says they can only live with their maternal relatives. Look, let me take them back. They can come here secretly to eat, and you will still be able to look after them. But they must always go back home.’
‘Where they live is not home,’ I said. ‘I could give them a home here.’
‘I understand. Let’s take it a step at a time. Maybe one day they will be able to live here with you.’
After a few moments of silence, I said, ‘You may take them back.’
They became very sad when Oyi told them it was time to take them home. ‘I will come and get you again tomorrow,’ she said, but her words did nothing to brighten them. I could not bear to watch them. I retreated from the room and left the shop closed for the day.
It was the last time I would see Ada.
*
That night I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. Their tearful faces kept flashing across my mind. I told myself that I would have to go and see the Chief and make my case before him. Somehow, I must take them into my custody. I was encouraged by Mama’s dream that one day her house would be a refuge for orphans. I could never have peace again knowing that those poor kids were being treated worse than slaves. I thought of how beautiful Ada looked in spite of all that she had been through. I remembered how she had embraced her brother at the table. I knew that I must do something.
Finally, I managed to sleep, but it was a fitful sleep. I was glad when morning came, hopeful that I would see them again. I rose early and went to check on Noah in his room. To my surprise he was up and had already taken his bath and dressed. He smiled and got up to hug me when I walked into his room. ‘Good morning, Mother,’ he said.
‘Good morning, my son,’ I said and smiled weakly. ‘You are up early.’
Seeing the smile on my son’s face dispelled some of the sadness in me. I felt very proud of him that he was truly keeping the secret of happiness. It was I who had given him that secret. I told myself that I must not fail to keep it. I could not afford to let him know that what I told him was a mere tale about a man who had died in the search of happiness.
‘Yes, Mother,’ he sai
d, sitting on the bed. ‘Ada and Bobo will be coming to visit us again today.’
‘Yes, they will be coming. I look forward to seeing them,’ I said. ‘Let me go and use the bathroom, and then we will have breakfast.’
‘Okay, Mother,’ he replied.
I patted him on the head and went out to wash.
*
I had just finished dressing when I heard someone wailing in a loud voice. I stood still for a brief moment, and then I rushed out of my room into the yard to see what was amiss. Noah had rushed out of his room too. To my surprise, I discovered that it was Oyi, and she was sitting in a heap on the bare floor. I bent down to hold her, my heart beating uncontrollably. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, trying to get her to stop crying. ‘Talk to me, please,’ I begged her.
‘They killed her,’ she said. ‘They killed her.’
‘Killed who?’ I asked fearfully.
Still crying, she managed to explain. ‘I learned this morning that when they got home yesterday, they were beaten and tortured for coming here. The girl did not survive. Ada is dead. She’s dead . . . oooooooo!’ she wailed.
I joined Oyi in a heap on the floor. ‘What are you saying?’ I asked, dazed. ‘What do you mean Ada is dead?’ A loud sound was echoing in my head and I was unaware that my face was wet with tears.
‘They have killed Ada,’ she said, panting, placing her hands on her breast.
I closed my eyes, but tears kept streaming down my face. I knelt there with Oyi for a long time.
*
It was Noah who acted as my rock in those wretched hours.
‘Mother, we have the secret of happiness, remember?’ he said.
‘I remember, my son,’ I said, smiling sadly at him. ‘Yes, we have the secret of happiness.’
‘And you said we must always be happy even if the whole world is sad, remember?’
‘Yes, my son, I remember. And now that the whole world is sad we must be happy because we have the secret of happiness,’ I said and nodded.
We sat in silence.
‘Bobo is still alive,’ he said. ‘You must do something before anything bad happens to him. You must do something, Mother.’ His voice was urgent. For the first time since the news of Ada’s death broke that day, he began to cry.
And then it occurred to me that truly Bobo could suffer the same fate as his sister. I came out of my grief and pulled Noah to me. ‘I will do something, my son. Nothing bad will happen to Bobo. I promise you, I will do something.’
He stopped crying and wiped his face. ‘Thank you, Mother,’ he said.
In the afternoon, Oyi came in with food for us, but we both told her that we did not feel like eating anything. Saying nothing, she took the food silently back to the kitchen and returned a moment later.
‘Have you heard anything about Bobo?’ I asked Oyi.
‘No, I haven’t. All I know is that he is alive. He survived the beating.’
‘I want to go and see the Chief,’ I said, rising up.
One of the men who helped me around the house appeared at the door. ‘You have a visitor,’ he said and moved aside to let Kewe in. Soluso followed closely behind him.
‘I’m sorry about the girl,’ Kewe said, his voice trembling.
‘I’m going to see the Chief,’ I told him. ‘It’s time to do something. It’s time to change the evil tradition that allows innocent orphans to be treated as slaves. Not one more orphan must die in this village.’
‘I will go with you,’ Kewe said.
‘No, I will go alone.’
‘We will support you,’ Kewe said.
‘Yes, we will all support you and convince others too,’ Soluso said. ‘While you go to see the Chief, we will go into the village to mobilise people. Kewe and I are youth leaders in the village and we have had a discussion. We are ready to stand up to the priests if you take the lead.’
‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘how many more orphans are there in this village?’
They consulted amongst themselves. And then Soluso said, ‘Three, and that includes the boy. There used to be seven. Apart from the girl, three have died in the last four years.’
‘Go into the village and do as you have said.’ My voice was grim. I stared into space, my mind spinning.
*
‘I was waiting for you to come,’ the Chief said, when I got to the palace. ‘I heard what happened.’ He sighed and bowed his head, massaging his temples slowly with his fingers. And, to my surprise, he took off his crown.
In those days, when a chief took off his crown in the presence of anyone, a woman especially, it meant that he was grieved in his spirit and ready to take an action that could portend life or death, or one of revolutionary consequence.
He held his crown in his hand for a while, still with his head bowed. When he looked up, he spoke with a powerful voice, the voice of a chief. ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ he asked, putting his crown back on.
‘Another orphan must not die in this village. There are three of them left. I want to turn my home into an orphanage. I want to take them in.’
‘The priests will fight against it. Some of the people will fight against it too. Are you ready for what may come?’
‘Yes, I’m ready, Your Majesty. I have people who will support me. In the end, I’m sure that I will have more supporters than opponents. I’m ready to make my case before the priests and the whole village.’ My voice was resolute.
He leaned forward and spoke in that conspiratorial tone I had come to know. ‘Remember, the more people you have on your side, the better your chances against the priests. You know you have my support. That should give you some motivation. There is no time to waste. This has become a community emergency. As you have said, another orphan must not die. I will call a meeting in two days’ time. Then you can make your case.’
‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ I said with a bow.
He clenched his jaw briefly. And then, in a soft tone, he asked, ‘How is your son taking the shock?’
‘He is taking it well,’ I said. ‘I have given him the secret of happiness, so he is never sad.’
The Chief’s eyes widened. ‘You know the secret of happiness?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘Could you give me that secret when this matter has been resolved?’
‘Yes, Chief, I could.’
‘I will call the meeting in two days’ time. Prepare yourself.’
After I had gone, town criers went round the village to announce the forthcoming meeting.
*
That night I called a meeting of my own, after Noah had gone to bed. Oyi, Soluso, Kewe, Chamuke, and all the men and women who had worked in the house since the days of Mama gathered in the living room, and Soluso spoke first.
‘Those of us who worked for Mama knew her dream,’ he began. ‘She told us that you would be coming long before you came, and it happened exactly as she had said. And she also told us that one day her house would become a place of refuge for orphans. We believe that this, too, will come to pass, exactly as she said. Mama was a kind woman. In you, we see her, and we are prepared to support you in every way possible to realise her dream. We have discussed this carefully amongst ourselves, and we believe that you came to accomplish that which Mama could not.’ He stopped and turned to Kewe.
‘All the young people are behind you,’ Kewe said. ‘We have decided that enough is enough. We will no longer watch poor children die while the aged continue to walk about with sticks, bent over with bitterness. At the meeting at the palace, we will show our support for you.’
Everyone nodded.
‘I want to know the names and ages of the other orphans,’ I said.
‘Kenuli is a ten-year-old boy; Oma a seven-year-old girl; and there is Bobo, who is about nine,’ Soluso explained.
‘The Chief has promised to allow me to address the priests and the entire village, and make my case for why I should be allowed to take the orphans into my care. I will appeal to the
sensibility of the people. In the end, my case may be strengthened or weakened by the amount of support I get from the people. So you must all do your best to win as much support as possible for this cause. I will be counting on you.’
They nodded.
‘You must be strong,’ Kewe said. ‘The priests will throw everything at you. They will threaten you with blindness and madness and death for taking the position you have. You have to be strong. Don’t let their words weaken your heart. You’re fighting for a good cause. We will support you steadfastly and you will get victory in the end.’
By the time we brought the meeting to a close, I could hear the silent cries of children in the night. I knew that I must be strong.
SIXTEEN
The amount of dust in the air indicated that the entire village had gathered at the palace. For a long time, everyone spoke at the same time. The sun burned harshly while we waited for the Chief to appear. When he finally did, he came alone, without bodyguards.
Absolute silence fell. And then he greeted the crowd with a powerful voice. The response was resounding but solemn. He did not bother to sit on the stool that had been placed on the balcony for his use. Instead, he paced the balcony and began to address the village. ‘I thank you all for coming,’ he said. ‘And now I invite the priests to come up to the balcony.’
Seven priests filed up to the balcony from the front row where they had been standing. Their faces were severe. They stood, three on either side of the High Priest, and they chewed their lips quietly, their eyes fixed upon the crowd. Only the High Priest carried a short broom and he was dressed in the same fashion as the day he had paid me a visit. The others were dressed in long white robes, and each carried a gourd which looked like a horn. You could tell that they were ready to invoke the gods. My heart began to pound.
Again, the Chief spoke. ‘May I request that Ese come up to the balcony too. This meeting has much to do with her.’
For a few moments I was rooted to the spot, too afraid to take a step out of the crowd. And then Kewe nudged me. ‘Go on,’ he whispered. ‘Be strong. You have our support.’
Noah looked up at me. I patted him on the head and walked up to the balcony on wobbly legs. I stood to the left of the Chief. And, focusing my eyes on Noah, who smiled encouragingly at me, I suddenly received strength. I took a deep breath. I turned to look at the Chief. I did not bother to look at the priests, who were standing to his far right. The Chief acknowledged me with a slight nod of his head.